


Constipated Hedgehogs

by oneatatime



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley and Aziraphale can be read as shippy, F/M, and post book, but it's not the focus, set post series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:21:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21830323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneatatime/pseuds/oneatatime
Summary: Anathema and Newt have some lessons to learn, and some of them might take a while.(Some of them might involve too much orangeade, and a highly suspicious bean dip.)
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10
Collections: Good Omens Holiday Gift Exchange





	Constipated Hedgehogs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Opora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Opora/gifts).



Anathema truly hadn’t expected this. 

He’d tried. He really had. But it wasn’t quite there, and she kept wanting to consult Agnes. Maybe there was some comment about the “flakes so faire”, which her family would’ve assumed to be a reference to dandruff, in the second book. 

Maybe Agnes knew that Newt would be his unpredictable self, and would still be good for her, and she would still be good for him.

Maybe. . . maybe it didn’t matter. 

***

“No, I’d asked you for gluten-free Mighty Fruity Flakes with Fun Shapes and rice milk, not sugar-free Fruity Mighty Rolls with Funtime Delight and almond milk,” Anathema corrected him, and while she was smiling, she didn’t say ‘sorry’ or ‘my mistake’ or ‘I’m afraid it’s not quite right’, or anything else that might soften it a little. 

He wilted, just a touch, and pulled out the list. She was, unfortunately, correct. He wouldn’t’ve been smug or mean about it if he’d been in the right. But it made him wilt further, like his hair that time he’d hopefully tried the latest be-gelled hairdo, and two minutes in the rain had made him look less like Boy George and more like someone had emptied a bowl of treacle on his forehead. 

“Ah. Sorry,” he said quietly. 

She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. I make mistakes, too.” 

He cocked his head to one side, then to the other, as he stared at her. Trying to see if it made more sense from this side or that side. It didn’t. 

“You do?” 

“Are you repeating things I say because you’re not sure how to take this?”

“How to take- no. Definitely not,” Newt lied, then he let the grin come out along with the admission. “I’m not used to this.”

“That things can go wrong and it’s not a big deal?” 

She leaned over and kissed him, very deliberately aiming for the corner of his mouth. It was the most ineffective, awkward kiss they’d ever exchanged, and that included the time when Newt had been asleep and thought Anathema’s lips were some kind of hat. 

He found himself laughing, afterwards, which was not something that usually happened when he’d made a mistake. He pulled his anorak back on and picked up the string bags from the table. He’d go for her even if he’d settled in for the night with his slippers on, but he was glad that he hadn’t. Made it much easier to dash off. He’d made a commitment, and he wanted to honour it. 

“I’ll go get the right ones.”

“I’ll come with you.”

***

“It’s not that we can’t,” Anathema said to her mother quietly. 

Newt nodded, taking her hand. “It’s that she- we don’t want to, Mother Device.” 

She appreciated how Newt was being supportive here, in his own endearingly prim little way. Not trying to take over, just… supporting. She didn’t want to be pregnant, and was somewhat horrified at the thought of it. But having a child? A small version of herself and Newt running around, who might be a witch, and/or might be a computer ‘expert’, and/or something entirely different. Perhaps this child would collect bees! 

Having a child was a lovely idea, and now that she could cautiously, tentatively consider the possibility of things happening that she couldn’t predict, it was even a foreseeable idea. 

Which made no sense, no. Be quiet. 

She’d always wanted to end up with babies.

“If you’re sure,” said her mother on the screen. She still looked worried, but then she began to smile, as well. “You don’t need to call me that, Newt. I can’t wait to meet your baby. Babies. How many?”

Anathema nudged her glasses up her nose and made a thoughtful face at her mom. “Ten or twelve.” 

With a scrape of the chair legs on the lino, Newt fell off his chair, over the sounds of Anathema and her mother laughing. 

Living life predictably, but still making it her own? This was a good thing about being with Newt. It was a lesson she’d happily learn over and over and over again. 

***

Crowley and Aziraphale were down again for the combination Christmas and baby announcement party. Aziraphale had, unfortunately, brought a large bowl of his suspicious bean dip. Anathema had tried it once on an innocent celery stick, and had heard yellow for the rest of the day. But he looked so excited about it. She couldn’t tell him no. 

It sat on their rickety kitchen table along with various other offerings from their various guests, including orangeade for Sergeant Shadwell and rather nipple-tacular pink biscuits from Madame Tracy. 

“We don’t want you to be godfathers,” Newt said, and Anathema nodded firmly. 

Aziraphale wilted. “I thought perhaps I could make you an offer you couldn’t reuse?” he tried, with a little bit of hope in his voice. 

“’Refuse,’ angel,” Crowley sighed. “It’s not a movie about recycling.” 

Anathema interjected before they could get any further into one of their bicker-benders. “The religious ramifications are things we’re not entirely comfortable with, so we want you to be, uh, guardians. The baby is due in four months. You have time to decide.” 

Oh, no. There was her mother in one corner of the garden, talking to Pepper, one dressed in serviceable black and the other in serviceable gumboots, jeans, and a red jumper. Pepper had brought anatomically, er, complete gingerbread men courtesy of her mother. Anathema had a nasty feeling that if these two bonded, they could bring down the world. 

Crowley flapped a hand in front of Aziraphale’s face, giving him an anxious look. Aziraphale didn’t make any kind of movement that Anathema could interpret, but a moment later Crowley said, “We’ll be guardians.”

“As long as there aren’t any gates involved,” Aziraphale added. “And THANK you! It’ll be very jolly!” 

“Angel. No one says ‘jolly’.” 

“Well, I do. I just did! Pish posh to you!” 

Crowley gave one of his migraine-related sighs, and rounded on Aziraphale. There were tiny clouds crackling around Aziraphale’s feet, and there was a certain angularity to Crowley’s jawline that hadn’t been there before. 

They were clearly having the time of their lives. 

Newt tugged at her arm. “Uh, I think there’s something we have to do over there. . .”

She went with him, with much gratitude. 

And so on this day, the main lessons they learned was ones they’d learned a few times before. That family – of all kinds – mattered a lot, and that two of their friends were lovely, and also madder than a hessian sack full of constipated hedgehogs. Not all lessons had to be big and surprising. 

The most important part, the most fun part, was that there was more than enough room in their messy, complicated, unpredictable-and-still-good lives for both babies and constipated hedgehogs.


End file.
